


Albedo

by phaelsafe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phaelsafe/pseuds/phaelsafe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There shouldn't be anyone out here. The Tri-Cities area had been hit by a storm earlier that night, dumping snow everywhere before blowing out of Washington, but it was late, and Christmas was a just around the corner. People would continue to travel, even in dangerous conditions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Albedo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [usarechan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=usarechan).



There shouldn't be anyone out here. The Tri-Cities area had been hit by a storm earlier that night, dumping snow everywhere before blowing out of Washington, but it was late, and Christmas was a just around the corner. People would continue to travel, even in dangerous conditions. 

He and Sam had been chasing down a lead regarding Crowley's whereabouts and ended up here in Yakima just in time to have to hunker down. It was close to three in the morning when the electricity came back on, and Dean had decided to head into town to find some supplies while Sam fired up the laptop. 

Dean sees the glow of the tail lights from the highway and pulls over. The road is slushy with a mix of half-melted snow and salt, but he doesn't see skid marks anywhere. The car is partially buried within a low drift; and, as Dean approaches, he can see the silhouette of the driver through the foggy windows. Both doors on the driver's side are open. 

As he rounds the back of the vehicle, Dean finds that what he thought was fog is actually a delicate pattern of frost frozen to the glass. Dread sits heavy in his chest when he sees the cache of smallish footprints in the snow gathered around the rear door that head away from the road and into the grove of winter-bare trees. 

The driver is dead, his blank blue-green eyes pointed off in the distance. Other than the thin layer of rime coating his blue-tinged skin, Dean can't find any sign of the impact that killed him. There are, however, toys and books strewn around the booster seat in the chair diagonally behind him. 

"Shit," Dean says whirling around, scanning for the child. 

Despite the earlier storm, the full moon hangs brightly in the clear cold sky, making the freshly fallen snow glitter in its pale light. His phone rings, loud in the otherwise silent air, and he startles at the sudden sound, then scrambles to pull it from his pocket. It's, not surprisingly, Sam so he answers. 

"Yeah?" 

_"Dean, I'm not finding anything-"_

"There's been an accident-" 

_"What? Are you okay?"_

"I'm fine. It wasn't me. I'm just outside of town along U.S. 12 near what looks like an orchard. Maybe a car wreck-" 

_"What do you mean maybe?"_

"I don't know. The guy doesn't look like he died in a car crash. Do you know of anything that leaves behind frost when it kills?" 

_"Most cultures have some form of snow creature. Ghosts sometimes leave behind-"_

"Looks like there's a kid missing," Dean breaks in. "Whole lot of little footprints here in the snow. Might still be alive." 

Sam's sigh crackles across the speaker. _"Dean, be careful."_

Dean hangs up and pulls his gun from the waistband of his jeans, glad he grabbed it before getting out of the Impala. 

"Hello?" he calls, following the tracks through the orchard. He hears nothing other than the occasional crack of ice laden branches that send flakes fluttering down around him. The snow is too deep for a kid to stumble through alone; eventually he comes to a break in the trees and stops. 

A woman stands in the center of the clearing, her white robe billowing around, wispy like mist that fades away into nothing. Her porcelain skin is almost translucent in the moonlight. Dean would have looked right past her if not for the stark fall of black hair that flows freely down her back. There's a little girl standing beside the woman, holding her hand. 

The little girl's dark hair is cut at her shoulders. Faint freckles speckle her nose and cheeks -- she has her father's eyes -- and she is dressed in a warm jacket over a skirt with tights and ankle boots. When she looks up at Dean -- she can't be more than maybe four, maybe five -- her eyes wide with curiosity, the woman turns around to follow her gaze. The woman frowns, and Dean realizes that she isn't just pale -- her skin looks like glacial ice, smooth and white with a hint of blue around her eyes and lips, the same along her fingers. 

"Are you okay?" Dean calls out when he finds his voice. 

The girl nods, overly enthusiastic in that way that only children can pull off, and his eyes dart back to the woman. She looks enough like a ghost that he thinks his weapon just might be useless against her; maybe not, since she doesn't look like any ghost Dean has ever seen. He still doesn't want to risk hitting the child, so he holds up his hands. 

"Why don't you just let the girl go?" he suggests, because trying to reason with monsters has ever really worked out for.... "I'll just take her somewhere safe." 

"She is safe," the woman snaps, stepping in front of the girl. Then, her beautiful face transforms into an ugly snarl, her eyes glittering like shards. "You won't take her from me!" 

Frigid fingers wrap around Dean's throat as she appears before him and slams him back against a tree trunk. Ice and snow shower down upon them, sloshing inside the collar of his jacket. The cold water soaks into his shirt, made even more unbearable by the sudden drop in temperature around them. 

She's simply holding him in place, and Dean grabs at her wrist, his breath turning to mist in the chilly air as he tries to yank her hand away. Her expression turns intense, and his eyes widen when she leans too close, her mouth parting around a soft yet audible breath. 

Dean can _see_ the breath hang mid-air, whirling into tiny crystals before disappearing, travelling from her to him. Then he seizes, his lungs clenching painfully as a freezing fire fills him. 

He can't breathe. His breath is jagged and raw, locked within him as though he's drowning. The feeling spreads past his ribs and into his arms and legs, turning him numb all over and making him shiver violently. 

Light flashes around Dean, and the woman vaporizes just before he's vision fails him completely. 

"Dean," Castiel growls, catching Dean before he can fall. "Are you okay?" 

The angel is too hot, scalding Dean wherever they touch. Dean wants to yank free, to curl up in the cold snow, and that's not normal so he tries to speak. He barely manages to shake his head. 

"Hold on." 

And Dean does as the world spins away, his stomach lurching as they fly elsewhere with a flap of Castiel's wings. 

"Cas?" Sam asks, surprised by the sudden appearance. " _Dean?!_ What happened?" 

"Help me get his clothes off," Castiel orders, pulling at his jacket, his layered shirts. "He found a snow woman, yuki-onna. She has bespelled him." 

The motel room swims back into focus as Sam kneels down to remove Dean's shoes off. Dean's teeth are still chattering from the cold, and the heater is working fine, spreading warmth throughout the space, but instead of feeling better, he's roasting, feverish. 

"How do we fix this? Do we kill her? What?" Sam asks, panic breaking into his voice. He tugs Dean's jeans off as Castiel strips down to his underclothes. 

"Can't kill them as far as I know," Castiel says, helping maneuver Dean toward the bed. "I'm not even sure they're terrestrial creatures, but we have to keep him from freezing to death. I need you to make a tincture of _Helleborus niger_ and fresh embers. Use whatever whiskey Dean has stashed away as the solvent." 

"No," Dean moans as they shuffle him under the covers. "Too hot. Or too cold, I don't know." 

"Jesus, Dean. You're like ice!" Sam says, pressing his palm to Dean's forehead. Dean jerks away from the scorching touch. "Christmas roses? Wouldn't it be faster for you to get them; and Cas, those are toxic-" 

"The roots are safe," Castiel explains as he slips in behind Dean, pulling him close. Dean tries to wiggle out of his grasp, but the angel is stronger. "And I can moderate his temperature. To some extent." 

Fingers graze his temple, and Castiel's grace flows through Dean, mitigating the contradicting sensations into something less excruciating. "You cannot. Sam, I suggest you hurry." 

Dean feels a shift in the angelic energy, and before he can speak out, he's fast asleep. 

\------ 

He wakes later, still pressed against Castiel's side. The aching chill is gone, and the heat is warm and cozy instead of sweltering. All he tastes is stale cigarette smoke and something akin to crappy gin. If Castiel wasn't out like a light, Dean would go scrub his mouth out. He doesn't even remember being given the remedy. 

A throat clears, breaking Dean from his thoughts. He glances up to find the little girl sitting beside the bed. 

"Looks like you did a pretty good job of wearing him out last night," she says, a grin spreading across her face. 

Dean coughs, heat rising to his cheeks. "Aren't you a little young to be making jokes like that?" 

Her lips quirk into a half-frown. "You don't spend much time around kids, do you?" 

He opens his mouth to answer, but she continues, "I'm Hana. And I'm _five and a half._ " 

"Well, Hannah, I'm glad you're safe." Dean can't help but chuckle, but his chest still hurts, and he ends up trying to rein in a fit of coughing. 

"Ha-na," she corrects, then she places something on the bed. "I made this for you. And for him too. I'm glad he was able to save you." 

A pretty wreath made from white, star-shaped flowers sits atop the coverlet. She adds, "Thank you. I know you were just trying to help out, but my father wasn't a very nice guy." 

Dean's frowns and his gaze darts back up to Hana. She smiles again, then stands up, smoothing out of her skirt. "Anyway, I have to go now. You be nice to the angel. He likes you." 

She leans in to kiss his furrowed brow, her lips chilly, and Dean suddenly feels drowsy. His lids become too heavy to keep open as she whispers, "And I can tell you like him back." 

\----- 

"Hey, Dean, there's an article in the newspaper about- what the hell?" Sam barks. He sets the groceries on the table with a loud thump. 

Dean comes awake much too quickly, knocking the blankets off of him as he bolts upright. Pain flashes through his head, and he lifts a hand to shield his eyes from the daylight spilling through the curtains. "Ow, Sam, _what?_ What's wrong now?" 

"The Christmas roses," Castiel breathes, sitting up beside Dean. "They've bloomed." 

"Yeah, so?" Dean says. Fingertips skim lightly across his shoulder blade, and the pressure behind his eyes eases just enough for him to squint at the flowers as Castiel picks them up. 

"I had to dig those out of someone's frozen garden last night. They were buried under a foot of snow. They might be evergreen, but they were most certainly not in any condition to be flowering," Sam adds, his eyebrows high with disbelief. 

Dean shrugs. "Hana wove them into a wreath, that's all I know." 

Castiel and Sam both glance sharply at him. 

"Who?" Sam asks. 

"Hana. The little girl from last night?" 

Sam and Castiel exchange bewildered looks, then Castiel says, "There was no little girl, Dean. Only the yuki-onna." 

"She was just here a few... uhm," Dean sighs and scrubs at his face. He has no idea how much time has actually passed, but his body heat is draining away, scattering goosebumps across his skin. He's too worn out to deal with this. "What were you so obnoxiously asking about when you came lumbering in?" 

"Oh," Sam snatches up the newspaper and holds it up, showing the front page to Dean. 

"Sounded like the wreck from last night." 

A man with blond hair and blue-green eyes stare back at Dean from beneath the headline "Kidnapped Girl Safe After Crash" and he nods. "That's him. What does it say?" 

Sam scans the article and his eyebrows fly up in surprise. "That he had abducted his own daughter after courts granted sole custody to the mother. The girl, Hanako, went missing, but she's been safely returned to her mother who lives in... California." 

"Okay then. See? I'm not crazy. The asshole dad tried to flee during a snowstorm and suffered the consequences of his stupidity. Hana is safe with her mother, and that's what matters." 

Sam looks like he wants to respond, but Castiel breaks in. "Yuki-onna, despite the stories, tend not to be aggressive. And they're highly protective of children." 

"Great, I'm glad that's all settled. Can I go back so sleep now?" Dean mutters. He's shivering again despite how warm the room is. He folds his arms across his chest. 

"You might have relapses as your body recovers from the spell. Keeping warm will help," the angel says evenly. 

Sam bursts out laughing, his eyes flicking back and forth between Dean and a confused Castiel. "Yeah, go ahead. I'm just going to get some kind of a caffeine fix. Some of us didn't get enough sleep last night." 

"What's so funny?" Dean demands. 

"You two keep sharing body heat or whatever." Sam pulls an amused face and just shakes his head, then packs his laptop away and grabs his keys. 

Dean rolls his eyes and grabs Castiel's arm rolling rolls over, burying them both under the blankets without a second thought as the door clicks shut behind Sam. 

Castiel tenses up against Dean's back. "Something wrong, Cas?" 

After a moment, Castiel relaxes, and Dean feels a soft smile against the back of his neck as the angel shakes his head. 

Dean grins back. "Good."


End file.
